


Suspicious Skills

by fuzipenguin



Series: The Odd Couple [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: It's a little early in our relationship to be coming to each other with mortal wounds, isn't it?





	Suspicious Skills

               “I do have a door, you know,” Prowl said dryly, not bothering to look up from his datapad when he felt the sudden breeze from his previously closed window. That could only mean one thing. A Jazz visit.

                He expected a joke about Jazz needing to practice, but all he heard was a little thump. Confused, Prowl turned around to see Jazz on his knees in front of the window, swaying in place. The thief’s lips were tightly pressed together and his head hung low.

                “Jazz?” Prowl ventured, immediately pushing himself to his feet. “What happened? Are you injured?”

                Prowl realized Jazz had his right arm held tightly against his side and something dark was forming a puddle beneath his knee.

                “Jazz!” Prowl dropped to his knees as well, trying to pry Jazz’s hand away from his side to see the damage.  

                “S’rry,” Jazz slurred, slumping forward to lean his helm against Prowl’s shoulder. “Needed s’mwhere safe.”

                “It may be safe here, but I am no doctor!” Prowl exclaimed, finally pulling Jazz’s hand away to reveal a small hole in Jazz’s plating. It was steadily leaking dark green coolant streaked with the lighter blue of energon. “We have to get you to the hospital.”

                “NO!”

                The shout practically deafened Prowl’s closest audial and he winced back from the painful grip Jazz placed on Prowl’s arm.

                “No,” Jazz repeated, visibly calming himself down and loosening his tight fingers. “No hospital. Isn’t safe.”

                “Jazz, this wound…”

                “Get me your first aid kit,” Jazz replied wearily, pushing himself off Prowl to lean against the wall.

                Prowl blinked at him. “I… I do not have a first aid kit.”

                “Yeah, ya do,” Jazz sighed, gesturing across the room. “Under the loose floor tile. You’ll have to shift the bookcase over; it’s on the left.”

                Prowl blinked more. “Loose… floor tile?”

                “Prowler… mech… I’m kinda bleedin’ out here, can ya hurry?” Jazz prompted faintly.

                Doorwings twitching, Prowl got to his feet and moved over to the bookcase. He carefully shifted it and its full contents to the right, then he knelt down and patted the floor paneling. Just as Jazz said, one of them didn’t quite fit properly and he pried the edge of it up, flicking on one of his headlamps to peer inside the dark alcove.

                Apparently he _did_ own a first aid kit. As well as several identity chips, stacks of credits, and a handful of gleaming plating ornaments. Prowl reached for the first aid kit, pulling it up out of the hidey hole with a quiet oath. The box was far heavier than anticipated and he discovered why after he brought it over to Jazz’s side and opened it.

                Beyond the normal mesh patches and nanite gels, there was also a portable cautery unit and weld kit inside. Definitely not normal contents. This was the type of box field medics carried into war.

                “Need the cautery. Got a bleedin’ line, self-repair won’t stop it. Can you…?”

                Prowl took the cautery machine out and unraveled the cord to the tip. Flicking a switch caused the tiny machine to whirr to life and then start humming. Within a few seconds, the rod’s end glowed a cherry red.

                “Just stick it in,” Jazz instructed. “If ya can’t, I could…ahHH!”

                “I am quite capable” Prowl grimly informed Jazz while holding him down with his free hand. The stench of burning components filled his sensors and he wrinkled his nasal ridge. “I cannot believe you created a stash here. Here, of all places!”

                Prowl yanked the tool free and used one of the sterile bandages to wipe away the fluid and char from the wound’s edges. Only a single drop of energon welled up, which Prowl quickly blotted away. A smear of nanite gel on a small square of mesh was held against Jazz’s sides until the warmth of his frame activated its adhesive and it remained stuck to the thief’s plating.

                “You’re mad,” Jazz commented, biting his lower lip as he stared up at Prowl.

                “I am furious, actually,” Prowl retorted, feeling the anger settle into a cold burn. “What happened tonight?”

                Jazz shook his head. “Can’t tell ya. I won’t get you involved.”

                Prowl shot a disgusted glance over at his bookcase. “I believe that you already have. You will tell me, or I will call the Enforcers this instant.”

                “You wouldn’t. You haven’t yet, and you ain’t gonna. I’m not telling,” Jazz replied stubbornly.

                “You think you know me, but you do not, Jazz. You will tell me, or I will end my relationship with you.”

                “Tell you, why? So you could help? You think you could fix my problem, Prowler? With that big ole processor of yours? Think you could fix the poor little thief’s criminal ways?” Jazz spat with the first bit of spirit Prowl had seen out of him so far this night.

                Prowl sat back on the heels of his pedes, cooly regarding the smaller mech in front of him.

                “I am not certain I would be able to cure you of your… ‘sticky fingers’, but I would like to at least try to help my _friend_ if he’s in trouble, yes,” Prowl responded. “But I cannot do so, unless you tell me what is going on.”

                Jazz gaped up at Prowl. “You… you’re my friend?”

                Prowl huffed out an annoyed ex-vent. “Not for much longer,” he warned, optics flashing.

                He hated this. He hated that once more he was being dragged into the seedy underbelly of society. But it was where he had come from, and he hadn’t helped his creator manage the Family business without picking up some more… dubious… skills. Skills he had a feeling he would be utilizing tonight to keep safe this ridiculous mech who had somehow wormed his way into Prowl’s spark.

                “All right, all right!” Jazz protested, waving a hand through the air. “Ya see, it’s not really even my fault…”

 

~ End


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